Back to square one / Writing again


In the last three weeks, something has started to work in my life here in Amsterdam.

I found a job in an Italian restaurant: They already got a waiter, so the worst position, dishwasher/handyman, was the only available. Since the dozens of CVs I left around town didn’t helped me find a job, I accepted it. It’s been extremely tiring, to the point where old aches inherited from my past job surfaced again after a long time, which honestly had me worried for my health. But I kept going because, well, I had no other choice. After six days of breaking my back, the (italian) owner told me he’d call me the next day to let me know about the work contract: I waited five days for a call that never arrived. So two days ago I picked up the phone and called him, and he simply said that “he honestly didn’t know what to do about my position” and that I had to wait another week to know something, so I just told him that I’ve found another job and that it was over. There’s no way I’m gonna work with this kind of people who can’t even manage such a small business, because they are also the ones that won’t pay you at the end of the month: I know it, I already had experiences when I used to run my own business with my father back in Italy.

As for the accommodation, it’s pretty much the same: A friend of mine here gave me his word that a room in his house would have been free in September and that I could have rented it. But apparently his flatmates, a girl and a dude who are also “friends” of mine, aren’t fine with the idea: They want another girl to make their life in the house more equilibrate. I don’t know what kind of reasoning is that, and I honestly don’t care, it’s just beyond me to be frank. Plus, in five days the owner of the room I’m living in will come back from the States, and I’ll need to move away from it, which means I’m gonna sleep on the couch for I don’t know how long. Not that I mind that much, the couch upstairs is actually pretty comfortable, and as long as I have a roof above my head everything is fine; my cousin and our friends are totally fine with it too, so I can’t complain. 

To be completely honest, despite being back to square one after living here for two months, I’m not feeling bad: Except for the afternoons around the city leaving CVs in workplaces, I spend all the other hours of the day writing at home and listening to music, lots of free time that allowed to work on my website as I’ve wished to in the last four months where I got blocked, which makes me really happy despite I’m still not doing my best in terms of creating a certain amount of content per week according to my personal goal. Basically, as long as I can write, discover new groups, and listen to music to write about, I’m honestly fine: It’s what I love to do after all. All this free time won’t last forever of course, cause I’ll need to work to live, but somehow I always feel like (and act like) my real job is actually writing, cause I think that’s what I can do best on a personal level.

After being a handy man and working in a way me and my body didn’t like for almost ten years, I feel like I should just stop and realize my dream. Leaving everything and writing, improving, and reaching my goal. I can make sacrifices, I can work hard, but I’m a little afraid that I’ll also need a bit of luck… a factor that doesn’t depend on me. Not entirely, at least. Plus I got this thing on my mind, that if I won’t act swiftly now, it’ll be too late. It’s “never too late” they say, but I feel like there may be a moment in the future where I won’t be able to make such a drastic decision.

Yes, I genuinely think that leaving and risking everything to focus on my passion and make it become my future is an option. A dangerous one, maybe even stupid, with no guarantees, but an option. Who knows.

For now, I’ll keep writing and listening. And enjoying it.